


Abby's Dad (Or: Here's to You, Doctor Lecter)

by elvisqueso



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Stacy's Mom, Alternate Universe - The Graduate, F/M, Hannibal is Mrs. Robinson, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Rating May Change, Will and Abigail are both 18, Will is Benjamin, Young Will Graham, and Abigail is both Stacy and Elaine, not sure how explicit the love scenes will be yet, there will be no love scenes between Will and Abigail
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4216920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvisqueso/pseuds/elvisqueso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aimless high school graduate Will finds himself torn between his older lover, Dr. Lecter, and his daughter, Abigail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coo Coo Ca-choo, Doctor Lecter (You Came Out With Just a Towel On)

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this [kinkmeme prompt](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/2246.html?thread=3443398) on the back-burner for _months_ , and I've only just managed to finish one chapter. Hopefully, I won't take as long for the rest. This will be a tentative 6 chapter fic, give or take a chap.
> 
> I recommend listening to a lot of Simon and Garfunkel, and leaving a comment every now and again :)

The summer was wet and hot for the most part; frequent rains made the air heavy and thick, and the sunshine became far more punishing than it should ever be.  Moreover, it made the greener things grow at twice the rate they had the year before, and the grass climbed up around the ankles in less than a few days. 

Will Graham tried, many times, to rub the smell of grass and earth and worms from his nose, but it was nearly impossible.  He eventually gave up and started the lawn mower again.

The back garden of the Lecter’s – not a yard.  Something so elegant could never be considered only a yard – was long and deep, teeming with high grasses and rose bushes on wooden ladders.  He’d often come here with Abigail, stealing to the farthest part, behind the Japanese maple and tall hydrangea bushes.  The leaves would cast a green glow to the dirt, almost like magic.  It was easy to be in love there, where nothing existed but green and dirt and Abigail.

Now, there existed the brutal sun-burning on Will’s shoulders and neck.  He stopped a moment to wipe his face with his shirt when the French doors into the dining room swung outward.  Will looked up to see Dr. Lecter there, a towel wrapped about his hips and his hair dripping into his face.  The doctor smiled at him and pointed to a patch near the irises.

“You missed a spot over there.”  He said, and, as quickly as he’d come, was gone; and the glass French doors were closed behind him.

That was the first time Abigail’s father had ever spoken to him.

\--------------------

“Did I tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Abigail looked up from where her head lay on Will’s stomach.  They were lounging, flipping through channels on Will’s lumpy futon.  “Oh, I guess I didn’t then.”  She said.  Her eyes were big, blue things with the kind of eyelashes you see on cartoon characters.  “It’s so wonderful, Will: I got in at Brown!”

“No shit?”

“No shit!”

“Abi, that’s incredible!  Well, I mean, of course you got in, but, still-”

“That’s all good, baby.  Just kiss me.”

Will obliged with enthusiasm, hungry the way young men are for the sweet promise of a girl’s mouth.  Abigail would card her fingers through his hair and whisper sweet nothings between breaths.  Sometimes, he would take his time pressing his lips to each of her many freckles, moving from one cheek to the other and down her neck.

“Will?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Will, my daddy’s throwing a party for me.  I want you to come.”

Will groaned and pressed his face into her hair.

“Will, this is important to me.”

“I know that.”

“Just put up with it for a while.  You don’t have to talk to anybody, just drink and stand somewhere and nobody’ll think anything of it.  Just be there, okay?”  Will nodded and her hair stuck to his cheek.

“You’re pretty.”  He said.

She slapped his arm. “You’re changing the subject!”

“But you are.  It’s true, Abi, you’re the prettiest girl I know.”

“Ugh.”

“I’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“Okay?”

“Sure.”

He couldn’t see her face, but he could feel her smiling against his cheek.

\--------------------

Will always tried to avoid going into Abigail’s home.  There was something imposing about the architecture that made him uneasy; perhaps it was the many blind corners and solid wood floors in the hallways that made him feel he could be ambushed at every step.  But the main rooms were spacious, and alive with color and taste.  The pale din of conversation choked the air.  Will stayed very innocently off to one side, sipping a sparkling cider and watching Abigail play hostess with a kind of sincerity he knew was half genuine and half practiced.

His eyes met another pair over her shoulder and suddenly he couldn’t see anything else.  Dr. Lecter, in his dinner jacket and his pressed collars, looked right back at him, smiled, and raised his glass to him.  Will didn’t react similarly, but he noticed his mouth had been hanging open when Dr. Lecter turned away again.

A large hand gripped his shoulder, firmly and fatherly almost.  Will focused his attention on the owner.

“Graham, good to see Abigail could get you in here.”  Mr. Crawford did something important with the government, but Will wasn’t sure what.  He knew sometimes Dr. Lecter consulted, and that his father enjoyed a beer with Crawford from time to time.  “How’s your dad?”

“He’s good.  Working.”  Will said.  He couldn’t think of much more to say.  Mr. Crawford took his hand off of Will’s shoulder, satisfied he had the boy’s attention without straining his tolerance.

“Fine, fine.”  He said.  “Any plans yourself?”

“Sir?”

“Career plans.”

“Oh.  Not really, Mr. Crawford.”

He nodded in that knowing way adults do.  “Don’t rush yourself, Will.  If you ever need a job, I have some connections, you know.”

“Thank you, Mr. Crawford.”

One last clap on the shoulder and Mr. Crawford returned to the party.  Will envisioned himself running around at Mr. Crawford’s heels with a stack of papers teetering to and fro until the inevitable fall broke him from his daydreaming.  Then he look at Crawford again and instead saw himself fingers deep in something red, brain whirring at a hundred miles an hour with lights and rubber gloves and the careful pulling of prints from a smoking gun.  Will turned and looked out the window until his vision stopped humming.  Abigail moved over to him and gently placed a hand on his elbow.

“You doing okay?”

Will nodded.  “Yeah.  Might need some air though.”

“Sure, gimme a sec.”

He watched her maneuver through the throng with the fluid grace of a serpent.  She reached Dr. Lecter, whispered in his ear, then placed a kiss on his cheek.  He nodded her dismissal, and she grinned more genuinely than she had all evening.

The air outside was sharp from the daytime rain.  The scent of wet dirt mingled with the scent of Abigail’s champagne breath.  They sat on a wicker love seat and looked at the few stars one could see in the Baltimore sky.

\--------------------

The party dimmed and dithered like the frayed edges of old linens until Dr. Lecter was helping the last intoxicated stragglers into cabs, for which he paid the fare.  Will was helping Abigail clean up dish trays and napkins and other castaways as the purple grey overcast of Summer morning crept up over the trees.  They talked to keep each other awake.

“Plastics.”

“What?”

“That’s what Mr. Zeller said to me – when he took me aside?  He said it like it was some kind of secret.”

“Plastics?”

“Plastics.”

“What about plastics?”

“I think he was telling me to invest in them.  I just thanked him and he seemed satisfied with that.”

“Can you even buy shares in plastics anymore?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Huh.”

Dr. Lecter came inside, holding his jacket away from him at arm’s length.  “It was bound to happen.” he said, grimacing at the stench.

“Oh, Daddy…”

Dr. Lecter shook his head, waving off her apologies.  “I’ve been thinking of getting rid of the suit anyway.  It’s not important.”  He kissed her cheek and, without a moment’s hesitation, tossed the suit jacket into the garbage.

“It’s gotten absurdly late.  Will, do you have a ride home?”  Dr. Lecter turned his full attention towards Will and the shock of it broke against Will like freezer blast.

“No, I took the bus.  The bus stop’s not far, don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll drive you home.  It’s the least I can do; you’ve been an immense help, Will.”

“I-,”

Abigail cut in, a finger against his lips.  “Shush.  It’d be rude not to.  And _I_ insist.”

“…Alright.”

Abigail smiled with her sleepy eyes and gave him a hug.  He could smell champagne and cigar smoke stuck to her skin from the party.  He wanted to remember it.

\--------------------

He and Dr. Lecter left the house while it was pinking on the horizon.  The Bentley was a silent ride; smooth as can be and blessed with the thrill of control a stick shift provides.  On occasion, Abigail would call on him to fix a minor clink, or replace the headlights.  He liked those times because Abigail would lean against the black sheen of the car in jean shorts, her white thighs turning gold in the sunlight, watching him from behind her big, heart-shaped sunglasses.  She looked like one of those summer travel ads from the sixties.

Dr. Lecter didn’t force any conversation beyond the occasional “Which way?”  The silence was comfortable, and Will let himself drift under the hum of the road.

They arrived at his house: a humble little bungalow with a wire fence along the main-roadside.  The windows were dark and his dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway.

“Your father’s not home?”

“No.  He’s probably still on the freighter.  They needed another man in the engine room and he jumped on it.  He should be back by evening, though.”

“I see.”  Dr. Lecter said.  He titled his head just off to one side, like he was readjusting the angle of his mind.  “You have a key?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me walk you to the door.  It’ll put me at ease.”

Will shrugged and stepped out of the car.  Dr. Lecter followed and joined Will’s side up the walk.  Will felt the sudden compulsion to invite him inside; as if not to would be a gross discourtesy.

The key was kept in a plastic bag beneath the lawn goose the last owner had left behind.  They still had all the tacky outfits meant for the damn thing.  He turned the key in the lock, and the door squawked open.  Will winced, then peeked at Dr. Lecter’s expression.  It was smooth and unperturbed.  Will relaxed.

“Do you want a coffee before you go?”  Will asked, before he thought about it, “I know it’s a bit of a drive.”

Dr. Lecter seemed surprised by the offer, and his close proximity to Will hung over him like a fog.  “If it’s not too much trouble, I would be grateful.”  He said.  Will let him walk in first.

The house was alright.  Small, but clean, and with the stark white walls of a home meant to be temporary.  The kitchen was miniscule compared to the Lecter’s, and Will felt a sudden bloom of shame well up in his chest.  He pushed it down.

“It’s not the best coffee,” Will said, hands moving on automatic to ready the coffee-maker – one of those carafe-types that made ten cups at a time.  “I know you have a refined taste.”

“One should learn to appreciate even the sour stuff they serve in gas stations.”  Dr. Lecter replied, “Where would any of us be without that?”

Will smiled, and realized he’d been looking directly at Dr. Lecter’s face.  The face was relaxed, inviting, and unique in its structure.  He could trace the lines with his eyes, if he wanted to, and guess at a history of laughs or anger.

He coughed, and turned away again.  “Asleep, probably.”

“Perhaps.”

There was a beat of silence before the coffee percolated when Will could feel Dr. Lecter’s eyes on his back.  He couldn’t keep the shudder down.

“Are you alright, Will?”

“Just tired, sir.”

“Sir?”

There was genuine amusement in Dr. Lecter’s voice and it made Will sheepish.

“I’d always been taught to call my elders ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am.’  Should I have said ‘doctor?’”

“Dr. Lecter is fine.  It seems most appropriate for your age and station.”

“Oh.”  Will had never called an adult by their first name in his life.  It was a relief not to have to start now.

The coffee maker dinged, and Will got one of his dad’s paper travel cups with the solo-lid from the cupboard.  There was a moment as he handed over the coffee when his fingers brushed Dr. Lecter’s.  The touch sparked in Dr. Lecter’s eyes, and Will nearly turned bright red.

“Do you mind if I just start this here?  I don’t think I’m awake enough to drive yet.”

“Um, sure.”

“Thank you.”

Dr. Lecter leaned on his hip against the kitchen counter.  Will noticed the very neat way his shirt tucked into his pants.

“So, what plans do you have, now that you’re out of school?”

“I’m afraid I don’t really have any, Dr. Lecter.”

“I see.”

“How’s the coffee, Dr. Lecter?”

Dr. Lecter looked down into the cup, inspecting it as though there might, at any point, be an eyeball floating up to the top.  “Ingestible.  Which is all I hoped for.  Thank you.”

“Do you think you’re about okay to drive, Dr. Lecter?”

“I expect I am.”

Will led him to the door and stood on the doorstep as Dr. Lecter returned to his car.

“I suppose I’ll be seeing you again, soon enough.  Good night, Will.”

“Good night, Dr. Lecter.”

As the backlights of Dr. Lecter’s Bentley streaked down the blacktop, Will stood on the doorstep watching after him for some time before he finally went inside.


	2. Abi Can't You See? (I'd Like to Help You Learn to Help Yourself)

Sunday was plagued with heavy rains and winds so thick and wild they blew mailboxes into the street.  Will splashed through the puddles welling up from the storm sewers to Abigail’s house and rang the doorbell before letting himself in, as always.

Not wanting to drip on the floors, he stood, sopping wet, on the mat in the foyer.  He felt bad about dripping on even that.

Dr. Lecter walked in, dressed casually for him, and greeted Will with a look of both surprise and bewilderment.  Will looked at his shoes.

“It’s pretty rainy out.”

“Apparently.”  Dr. Lecter said, “Wait here a moment.”  He disappeared up the stairway and returned a short time later with towels and a change of clothes.  He handed them over.  “You can change in Abigail’s room.  She’s not home yet.”

“Oh.  Okay.”

“Don’t worry about the carpet.  Water dries.”

“Alright.”

Dr. Lecter smiled.  His smile felt like warm brass against Will’s skin.  Will smiled back, then made his way up the stairs to Abigail’s room.

Abigail’s room was rosy.  Not in color, as it was painted green, but in atmosphere and décor.  Will liked her vanity the most; he thought it was the piece of furniture most like her, and anywhere Abigail lived should have that vanity and its old butterfly stickers and corkboard with celebrity crushes and notes thumb-tacked on.

He stripped and dried off.  He tried not to imagine Abigail in that room, doing the same.

He was in the middle of pulling on the pants when Dr. Lecter knocked on the door.  Will stumbled and fell to the floor with a thud.  The door was open and Dr. Lecter was helping him upright before he could say “I’m fine.”

Dr. Lecter has very steady hands with prominent veins.  They look like working hands, which surprised Will.  He’d always assumed those hands were softer.  Aristocratic.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Dr. Lecter’s voice was even with polite concern.  “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, m’fine.”  Will scrambled and grabbed at the pants to pull them up to his hips.  “Just lost my balance, is all.”

Dr. Lecter nodded and began to leave the room again.  “I wanted to tell you I have some hot drinks downstairs, if you’d like.”

“Oh.  Thank you, Dr. Lecter.”

One more cordial nod, and Will was left in Abigail’s room with his pants unzipped and a creeping heat on his back and neck.

Downstairs in the kitchen were two mugs and a French press, which Dr. Lecter operated with practiced distraction.  “Coffee, Will?”

Will nodded and sat at one of the stools by the kitchen island.  He knew that the stools were only there in the mornings, and put away in a side closet after lunch so they wouldn’t get in the way during dinner.  Dr. Lecter must have brought them out again for him.

The press burbled against the sound of the rain.  Dr. Lecter wasn’t wearing slippers, and Will stared at the shape of Dr. Lecter’s feet against the tiled floor.

“─…do you?”

Will’s head snapped up and he felt his face get hot.  “I’m sorry?”

“I said: I don’t see this rain letting up any time soon, do you?”

“Oh.  No.  Probably not.  It’s coming down pretty hard.”

“Hmm.”  He handed Will a mug and their fingers brushed again.  “I know you were planning on meeting Abigail, but I don’t know if I want her trying to go anywhere in this weather.”

Dr. Lecter’s eyes were far off, and Will supposed this was the face he made when he was deeply in thought.  He sipped his coffee and stayed quiet.  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Lecter’s voice was sudden and gentle, “I think I’m going to call her now.  Do you mind waiting here for a moment?”

“Not at all, Dr. Lecter.  I wouldn’t want Abi driving in that monsoon either.”

Dr. Lecter smiled and walked briskly out of the room.  Will had the after-image of Dr. Lecter’s smile to look at in the doorway while his coffee warmed his fingers through the mug.  He could hear the easy tone of indecipherable conversation going on down the hall.

Dr. Lecter returned and sat down on one of the stools.  He placed the phone on the counter, pushing it to be parallel to the edge with his finger.  “I’ve asked her to wait out the storm, and if it stays bad I’ll go get her myself.  I’m sorry you came all this way just to wait, Will.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, Dr. Lecter.  I don’t mind and I don’t have to be anywhere.”

Dr. Lecter smiled and there was a crinkle around his eyes where the sun had made his skin leathery.  “Need a refill?”  He asked, nodding to Will’s cup.  It was down to a third, and cooled to a lukewarm.  Will shrugged.

Will never really spoke with Dr. Lecter on his own beyond politeness.  With Abigail there, he can just talk with her and then watch her talk with her father.  As he watched Dr. Lecter’s back while he prepared another cup, his thoughts tumbled and twisted around in his brain trying to figure out what the _Hell_ to say.  Dr. Lecter spared him by speaking first.

“What do you think of me, Will?”

“Dr. Lecter?”

“I asked: what do you think of me?”

“I don’t really know, Dr. Lecter.”

He sounded amused:  “You’ve known me for some time, Will, you must have formed some opinion.”

“Well, I think you’re a very nice person.”

Dr. Lecter watched him closely.  Will had the sensation of being a bug under a magnifying glass.  Setting his cup on the counter, Dr. Lecter continued: “There’s no need to patronize me, Will.  I find it rude.”

“That wasn’t my intention, Dr. Lecter.”

“I want you to tell me the truth.”

“I’m not sure what that truth is.  I know you as Abigail’s father and not much more.”  And then, “I don’t really think about you.”

Dr. Lecter had maroon eyes that glinted redly in the kitchen lights.  Will sometimes felt them scraping against the inside walls of his skull, picking at the deep grooves there left by the sapling horrors of his imagination.  He turned away from Will a moment, retrieving a glass from the cupboard and a bottle of brandy.  No-one spoke as Dr. Lecter poured the brandy, dropped in two ice cubes, re-capped the brandy, and put it away.  Will felt his throat knot up under his chin as Dr. Lecter took a sip and spoke again.

“Do you know I how I came to adopt Abigail?”

“Dr. Lecter?”

“Do you?”

“No.  I’m sorry.”

“I was consulting on her father’s case, the Minnesota Shrike.  When the FBI got to the house, he had already killed her mother and had a knife to her throat.  I held her blood in until the emergency medical team arrived.”

The walls in the kitchen seemed closer than before.  Understanding creeped up Will’s spine and settled uneasy in the back of his mind.  “Oh,” he said, “Abigail never told me.”

“Abigail doesn’t know.  She was too young to remember.”

The floor spun underneath Will for a few moments and he had to put his cup down and lean against the counter for a moment.  He could envision the blood spilling over his own hands as they pressed into Abi’s neck, her face small and full of fear.  Dr. Lecter’s glass was set down in front of him and he felt a hand press into his shoulder.

“You can have the rest if you like.  Do you mind if I put on some music?”

The ice had melted a little and Will watched them spin around each other as he swirled the glass.  Whatever Dr. Lecter put on the record player was slow and pleasant.  Parlor music, but not quite.  Will pushed the glass away from himself as Dr. Lecter walked back into the room.

“Dr. Lecter, you can’t be serious.”

“Whatever do you mean, Will?”  Dr. Lecter’s face was smooth and he seemed amused.

“You can’t possibly think I’d do something like _that_ —,” Will had begun to pace around the kitchen, like a fly trying to find an open window.

“Like what?”

“I mean, my God, I’m here in your house, alone.  Abigail won’t be home anytime soon; you offer me this drink.  You put music on.  You tell me all this stuff about your personal life and—,” gall sufficiently raised, Will found it in him to look Dr. Lecter in the face on his own, “Well, Dr. Lecter, you’re trying to seduce me.”

Dr. Lecter laughed.  And the laughter was either mocking or guilty.  The sound was startling and Will faltered.

“…aren’t you?”  He said, wincing at how small the words sounded and felt in his mouth.

“Will…”

“I think I should go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Dr. Lecter—,”

“Why would I try to seduce you?”

“I have no idea, I just—,”

“Then why say so?”

Will wanted to leave; his cheeks burned and he couldn’t handle looking anymore.  Dr. Lecter leaned back against the doorway.  “At least wait until your clothes finish drying,” he said, “I couldn’t send you off in clear conscience without that at least.”

“Okay.”

The static in the air wouldn’t leave.  Will could feel it in his face as he walked past Dr. Lecter with excuses about using the bathroom.  Embarrassment and guilt often contend with each other as the most destructive emotions.  Will watched his own reflection change shape with whichever was winning at the moment.

After a time — how long Will wasn’t certain — a knock came at the bathroom door and Dr. Lecter was saying: “Your clothes are dry, Will.”

Will cracked the door open and slipped his hand out:

“Just hand ‘em to me, please.”  He felt fabric being pressed into his grip.  He could probably have pulled away then, but he didn’t; he listened to the beating of his own pulse in his ears and in the veins on the back of his hand, muffled against Dr. Lecter’s palm.

“Will, listen to me a moment: if you will not sleep with me this time—,” Dr. Lecter’s voice might as well have been right next to Will’s ear, and he choked out some half-word of protest and was spoken over, “—if you won’t sleep with me this time I want you to know that I’m always available to you.  Do you understand?”

“Dr. Lecter, this is—,”

“Do you understand, Will?”

“Please, I’d very much like to go home.”  Will hated the crack in his voice more than anything, and his fingers were going numb from gripping his bundle of clothes.  Dr. Lecter’s hand lifted from his.

“All you have to do is give me a call.  Whenever you need me.  Good-bye, Will.”

“Good-bye, Dr. Lecter.”  It was all Will could think to say.

He changed as quickly as he could, stumbling around on the bathroom tile.  When he peeked out from the bathroom, Dr. Lecter was nowhere in sight.  He wasn’t anywhere Will looked and he didn’t appear as Will slipped on his shoes and gripped the front door handle.  The only sign left of him was the lingering warmth on Will’s hand.

There was an umbrella rested against the wall next to the door; Will picked it up and, with one final glance at the foyer behind him, stepped out into the still-pouring rain.

\---

At home, Will stared at the back of his hand for a very long time.  He flexed it, opening and closing his fist.  He watched the movement of his own veins.  He could still feel Dr. Lecter’s hand pressed against the skin there.

He called Abigail’s cellphone.  She picked up after the third ring.

“Hey there, puppy.”  Her voice came through like a bell, even over the shitty connection he had.

“Hey, Abi,” he said.  And then, “You home?”

“No,” a pause, the rustling of Abigail getting herself settled somewhere, “Daddy didn’t want me driving in this hurricane.  You coming over?”

It hit Will then: Dr. Lecter didn’t tell her he had been there.  “Was thinking about it.”

“It’s gonna be late when this thing blows over.”

“Yeah.”  The disappointment in his voice is genuine, and that surprises him.  “I could still—,”

“You know how I don’t like you taking the bus that late.”  Will could almost see the pout on her face, the fullness of her lower lip and that cute way her forehead wrinkles just above the bridge of her nose.

“You’re always looking out for me, babe.”

“Someone has to.”

“I’ll just have to spend extra time with you tomorrow.”

“You better, buster.”

They talk another hour about mundane, unimportant things.  Will lies on his back on the futon and laughs sometimes and thanks whatever God there is that he has Abigail, at least for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It shouldn't take me like 8 months or whatever to write 2,000 words and yet here we are
> 
> Apparently, this is gonna be a slow updater, and I am so sorry for that


End file.
